


Summer Children

by juana_a



Series: The Bittersweet End [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Blatant Abuse of Historical Facts, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Incest, M/M, Magic, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 18:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juana_a/pseuds/juana_a
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Great Britain, 14th century. Christmas at Winterfell are unusually crowded this year. The king Robert visits with his court, and just after Christmas the Tyrells arrive with an offer of allegiance. And when parents aren't looking, their children...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Children

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Dzieci lata](https://archiveofourown.org/works/726186) by [juana_a](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juana_a/pseuds/juana_a). 



> Written for the 12th ficathon on [multifandom_pl](http://multifandom-pl.livejournal.com).  
> Please, let's overlook the fact that in 14th Century Scotland was an autonomic kingdom. Yes, I blatantly abuse historical facts. I don't think I'm sorry. Okay, maybe just a little bit.

Winterfell, somewhere in Scotland, the end of 14th century

 

As usual, Christmas comes way too early. They didn’t even have time to fully enjoy the snow before they had to pack their trunks, steal last ginger cookies from school’s kitchens and trade goodbye hugs with their friends. The cold wind brings the smell of smoke and fresh snow through the open doors, frost pinches the skin when students cross the gates to go to the waiting carriages.

Christmas comes way too early, but also much too late, and Robb is smiling when he steps into the great hall of the Winterfell castle. He drops to his knees to hug Rickon and uses his other hand to stroke Grey Wind’s head. Next to him Jon is hugging Arya and Bran. Sansa hides her face in Lady’s soft fur, and Bran laughs that Ghost is going to tear off its own tail from joy.

Laugh is reverberating through the stony walls of Winterfell, and the only thing that tells them that something has changed is a sad smile on their Lord Father’s face, a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

 

\---

 

The house elves take their trunks away before Sansa lets go of Lady and stands up gracefully to hug their Lady Mother. She does keep her eye on Robb though, so she sees how he greets their Lord Father and then instinctively looks for Jon.

Sansa sighs and remembers to draw their attention to this later, but then her mother shows them a letter from King Robert and tells them of the royal visit. All other thoughts are out of her head instantly. She smiles. Two more days and she will see Joffrey again. She couldn’t dream of a better way to spend Christmas, could she?

 

\---

 

This night Sansa is too excited to sleep. She keeps tossing around in bed for hours before she finally decides to sneak out on a night walk in the gardens. Tired and irritated, she untangles herself from among the sheets and warm furs. She shivers and instinctively steps back the moment her bare feet touch the cold, stony floor. Lady raises her head anxiously and blinks slowly, still half-asleep, but follows her to the heavy, oak doors. 

 

The hot sources make the garden warm, almost sultry. The grass is still green and the moss spreads on the ground like a delicate carpet warming her cold feet.

Sansa thinks she can hear the Goddess’s whisper entangled in the wind and rustling leaves.

 

\---

 

“We need to stop,” Jon’s whisper is so quiet that Sansa, safely hidden behind a tree, shouldn’t even hear it, but the wind in the godswood is capricious and likes to gossip.

Robb’s answer is lost somewhere between his lips and Jon’s skin so quickly that the wind doesn’t get a chance to catch it, but the laughter, which follows shortly after, is hardly discreet at all. Sansa smiles and decides to take a risk. She can’t see them from this angle, the shadows of ancient yew trees and junipers hide them almost entirely, but she thinks she can see Jon’s fingers tracing foreign symbols on Robb’s backs.

She closes her eyes and pretends she doesn’t listen to the wind divulging secrets that are not his to tell.

 

\---

 

“Loras thinks that King Robert is going to make Father the Lord Chancellor,” Robb says quietly the next morning. As usual the three of them sneaked out to the abandoned tower in the northern part of the castle.

Sansa is sitting on an old, stony, covered with furs bench, with her knees pulled up close to her chin. She has her eyes on the kingsroad, looking out for the king’s retinue, pretending she doesn’t notice how Robb’s fingers tighten on Jon’s wrist.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” she asks. She doesn’t exactly turn her head, but only shifts it discreetly, playing in their old game: I know that you know, and you know that I know that you know, but let’s pretend that you know nothing. “Mother says it’s a great honour,” she adds after a moment.

“Mother also says it will be a perfect tactic move, that will let us equalize our forces and influence with the Lannisters,” Robb answers coarsely. He doesn’t have to say he doesn’t agree with this, it’s all there in the tone of his voice.

Sansa hears a flutter of tiny wings next to her ear, and it finally makes her turn her head and look at them. A yellow butterfly circles her head and flies up to the ceiling which is already covered by a small group of multicoloured butterflies. Another one appears from nowhere next to Jon who laughs and takes Robb’s wand out of his hand. Sansa sighs and quietly asks whatever god is listening that Robb won’t get into troubles.

Thoughtlessly conjured butterflies are the best proof of how nervous he really is.

 

\---

 

“Can someone explain to me why do we always have to fight with the Lannisters?” Arya asks on the Chritsmas Eve’s night, when they sneak out to the godswood after the feast, as they do every year. None of them remembers when and why they initiated this tradition, but they’re not going to give it up only because Winterfell is crowded with the Kingsguard and the third part of the royal court.

Robb shrugs and takes another swig from the bottle of wine Jon stole from the kitchens earlier that day.

“There’s always a reason: power, honour, a woman,” Jon answers instead. “Last century it was the youngest daughter of the prince of Cornwall, two hundred years ago there were some lands in the northern England separating Wales from Scotland, and before that there was a quarrel about some elixir, I think, and who discovered it. I don’t think anyone really remembers how it all started.”

“If Sansa marry Joffrey, they will bring together three out of the five most powerful families on the Islands,” Robb adds quietly.

_When_ , Sansa thinks but doesn’t correct him. _When, not if._

 

\---

 

The corridor is cold and empty and the only sounds are brought by wind. Sansa slowly opens the door to her chambers. At the other end of the hallway Robb plants a gentle kiss on Jon’s cheek, before disappearing in his own chamber.

Snow begins to fall the moment Sansa pulls a quilt over her head.

 

\---

 

When the Tyrells come to Winterfell the royal court is ready to depart. The courtyard is full of carriages and squires are saddling winged horses and Thestrals in the stables. King Robert promises Arya a place in the Kingsguard and with a falsely serious expression asks Robb to limit his weekly duels with Joffrey, if only a little. He winks the second the Queen turns away, though.

Joffrey kisses her hand and a corner of her mouth good bye, whispering a promise to show her how the princesses live once she’ll be at court for the summer. Sansa smiles, trying her best to convince herself it’s what she has dreamed of, to spend a summer in London.

 

\---

 

“Margaery,” Sansa’s voice is quieter than a whisper, as if she was afraid to startle the silence, as if she was afraid it’s all only a dream, a spell that could be broken every second.

“Mmm,” Margaery purrs. She pulls closer to Sansa’s back and puts her chin on her shoulder.

“Would you like to be a queen?” Sansa asks as quietly as before.

“Darling, as for now my brother has far bigger chances for that than me,” Margaery answers and kisses Sansa’s bare arm gently. Sansa smiles gently at that and lets her eyes fall close.

 

\---

 

Margaery is teaching Arya a new spell that changes one’s hair colour when Sansa comes into her chamber. The fire in the fireplace cracks louder and wavers when the cold wind coming through an open window mixes with a cold air from the hallway.

“Is it true?” she asks and sees how Arya raises her eyebrows, surprised that Sansa didn’t comment on her red and green hair. “I overheard Loras and Jon talking and—“

“I was going to tell you this evening. Father hasn’t decided yet, he wanted to meet your brother first,” Margaery answers calmly but her eyes betray her and Sansa knows that she is not pleased.

“Alliance?” Sansa asks after a moment.

The smoke smells of apples and mingles with a delicate scent of snow brought by the wind. Margaery doesn’t look her in the eyes when she nods.

 

\---

 

The snow melts a day before the New Year. Suneams are changing the winter garden into a Wonderland and Sansa feels like she travelled back in time. Her hand sweats a little in Margaery’s strong grip. Her soft shoes don’t protect her feet from small pebbles covering paths and alleys. Their laughter echoes from the glass walls of the garden.

Then, when they both finally stop laughing, they hear someone sigh quietly and Margaery puts her finger on Sansa’s mouth.

Behind a stone wall that encircles a rose arbour Robb’s teeth leaves a mark on Jon’s shoulder. Margaery’s fingers blindly untie a ribbon from Sansa’s gown.

Sansa closes her eyes and pretends that the world doesn’t exist anymore.

 

\---

 

Sansa remembers another summer day in the middle of winter, when the Forbidden Forest was full of life and a smell of winter was mingled with a smell of summer, a scent of snow with a scent of a wet ground. That day on a clearing encircled by yew-trees she heard, for the very first time, Jon’s whisper disappearing between Robb’s collarbones. That day she let Margaery to lead her between those yew-trees and untie her gown’s ribbons for the second time.

Sansa remembers that summer day in the middle of winter and stops believing in fairy tales.

 

\---

 

“I can be a queen of Scotland one day,” Margaery says when Sansa asks why Robb.

“Scotland is not a kingdom,” Sansa notices. She takes a look around her chamber to make sure the house elves packed everything she needs to take back to Hogwarts.

“For now,” Margaery answers, smiling gently. “The game of thrones begins once again, Sansa, and it does not matter if we won’t it or not, we will be the part of it. The only thing you can do is decide what role you want to play.”

Sansa sighs when Margaery pulls her closer and embrace her from behind.

“Who do you want to be, Sansa?” Margaery’s quiet question tickles her ear and Sansa smiles unintentionally. “A pawn or a player?”


End file.
